


The Fall of the Faerie Prince, or The Tale of Jonquil and Coriander

by Vulnerasti_Cor_Meum



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Sex, Fae & Fairies, Fae Magic, Forced Exhibitionism, M/M, Manipulation, Mutual Non-Con, Mutual Pining, True Names, magical compulsion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 18:36:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15006908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vulnerasti_Cor_Meum/pseuds/Vulnerasti_Cor_Meum
Summary: This is a tale of stolen things: a throne, a name, a will. When all power is lost to a cruel and manipulative usurping Queen and Jonquil, no longer Prince, cannot trust even himself, is there any hope left?





	The Fall of the Faerie Prince, or The Tale of Jonquil and Coriander

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LilyGilt (Yirry)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yirry/gifts).



> Have a great Nonconathon, LilyGilt, and thank you for such an inspiring prompt! I sure hope you enjoy this story as much as I enjoyed writing it!

“How good of you to join us, Lord Jonquil,” Amanita said, her voice mockingly silky. She sat upon the gnarled bark of the ancient oak throne of the fey of Wildwood Court--his mother’s throne. Until Amanita had driven Queen Vervain mad and stolen it from her, along with his full name.

He stopped and stood among the twisted roots of the tree that shaded the royal clearing, refusing to bend a knee. Amanita was no queen of his. “Had I a choice?”

She smiled, showing the points of her teeth, and shrugged one slender, graceful shoulder, the white of her gauzy spidersilk gown nearly blending in with her pallid complexion. “There is always a choice. You could have refused my invitation. I did not command you come.”

Jonquil stared at her, unable to keep his slender mist-grey wings from flicking vexedly. Yes, he could have refused, and invited her wrath and cruelty. There were worse things than attending a revelry.

And so he was here at Amanita’s midnight coronation celebration, her _esteemed_ guest of honor.

It would have made him laugh if he weren’t so sick with grief over what she had done--to him, yes, but mostly his mother. She’d trusted Amanita. Jonquil had known for years how vicious and dangerous she was, had told Queen Vervain many times how she delighted in practicing glamours and curses on him under the pretense of practice. But Amanita was the daughter of his mother’s closest friend, Lady Jessamine, and the Queen had ever believed her as loyal as her mother. That trust had been Queen Vervain’s downfall.

Jonquil knew Amanita would only twist his words and make him sound foolish or worse if he argued about what little choice she had actually given him. So he sighed wearily and said, “I am here. What more do you want, Amanita?”

Her jewel-red eyes flashed. “Firstly, I expect you to address me properly.”

Pressing his lips together in a firm line, Jonquil fought to control the rush of anger that called up in him, his dusky violet skin glowing with the barely restrained magical impulse to lash out at her. It would do no good, he knew. Not only was his magic no match for Amanita’s, her honor guard, Vibernum--how he’d risen in stature when Amanita took power--was tensed and ready to strike Jonquil down, his own body glowing a pale pinkish white.

Jonquil grit out, “Lady--”

The shock of the spell jolted through his body before he even saw the power gather searing red at Amanita’s corpse-pale fingertips. The pain was intense but short-lived, a warning. Jonquil glared at her, his wings lowered and trembling. “You have not yet been crowned.”

“Merely a formality.” Amanita smiled at him and swept the fall of her long, luminescent white hair over her shoulder. She leaned back in the throne. If it weren’t for the threatening spread of her fiery-bright red wings she would appear entirely at ease. The danger had not passed.

_Stillness. Serenity._ Jonquil needed to find whatever peace within himself was left. He lowered his head, closed his jet-black eyes, and thought of his mother sitting in that throne. Queen Vervain, strong and fair, her figure all of deep blue and pale lavender, surveying her people with cool composure and regality. She had called Jonquil after the bright flowers that in springtime filled the meadow at the border between their lands and those of the Swallowtail Valley Court, despite the fact that his own dark violet and gray colorations did not resemble in the least the cheery yellow and orange of those blooms. But those flowers gave her hope, she’d said. Hope that, for all the icy tension between their Courts, someday a thaw would come and they would walk together in those meadows, Unseelie and Seelie. The thought warmed his heart. Cool and stern as she was, she had a softness to her that he cherished. He meant to continue the work she had begun in restoring the rift between their people in whatever way he could. Somehow.

The soothing, healing magic of memory and positive thought brought him the stillness and strength he needed. Amanita had done nothing to earn it and had not spoken his full name to compel him, yet he could still voice these words of respect.

“My Queen,” Jonquil whispered. She did not need to know he thought of his mother and not her.

“There, was that so difficult?” Amanita mocked. “Come now, sit with me. I have a matter to discuss with you, Lord Jonquil.”

Jonquil resisted the urge to look back longingly over his shoulder at the revelry in full swing in the clearing behind him, all the fey of the court dancing and eating and making merry. Raucous music played, soaring pipes and rumbling drums. The scent of sweet honey cakes and smashed berries and intoxicating brews mingled and hung heavy in the humid summer’s eve air. Jonquil could enjoy none of it. It had been too much to hope that Amanita had merely wanted him to be _at_ the celebration, free to slip into the crowd and out of her presence. He spread his narrow wings and flew swiftly over the sprawling roots of the great oak and up onto one of the stones set to either side of the gnarled throne, the seats of prominence. There he settled himself resignedly, folding his legs beneath him and straightening the soft never-fading purple rhododendron petal tunic he wore before turning to meet her gaze.

Amanita raised her brows. “Aren’t you going to ask what the matter is?”

Jonquil had a feeling he knew already, and did not want to have this conversation again. He sighed. Silence would only incense her further. “What is it?”

“I am looking to take a partner, someone to share my love and the throne with.” 

He looked at her wearily. Amanita gazed expectantly back, a strange earnestness in her eyes. If she thought he would ever agree to _that_ of his own will, she was much mistaken.

She could not possibly love him, and he most certainly did not hold any affection for her. What’s more, she could not actually mean to _share_ her power. More likely she wanted a partner she could control. Her magical ability had grown such that it was nearly unmatched in the Wildwood Court, and his… his was unremarkably average.

“Surely there are many young faeries here who would please you,” Jonquil said, spreading his hands to indicate any number of happy revelers celebrating her ascension.

Amanita huffed in irritation. “Let me be more clear, then. I want _you_. I am giving you one more chance to say yes to my proposal of marriage.”

“Use my name, then, for I will not.” His answer was swift and firm. “You already know I love another--”

“Oh, yes, your secret Swallowtail harlot,” Amanita sneered. She grinned in vicious satisfaction at the fierce, hot blush that made his face glow violet in affronted shame.

Jonquil shifted uneasily on the moss-covered stone. He hated that he’d let slip his secret love’s use name when she’d first asked him to be her king, a name he treasured and kept close, and a love he had shared with no one at all, not even the one who held his heart. “Coriander is a dear friend, not…” Jonquil’s throat closed. Not a harlot. Not his lover, however much he wished it were so.

She cut in, her tone one of boredom. “Spare me; I care not to hear it. No Swallowtail Valley faerie is a friend to the Wildwood, no matter what nonsense your mother espoused.” 

Amanita’s dismissal rankled. If she would but listen, he could tell her of a deep and abiding friendship with Coriander of the Valley far stronger than he’d ever had with anyone of the Wildwood. It was a friendship that had grown over years of clandestine meetings in the deepest wood between himself and the adventurous (perhaps foolhardy) young faerie, evenings spent sharing magic and spells with him, or staring up at the stars and simply sharing his company. The man he loved was warm and kind, and had shown him there did exist faeries that he could trust… and be trusted by in return.

“Fetch our second guest of honor,” Amanita said to Viburnum, who grunted his assent and rose heavily into the air to fly off in the wood toward Thornbriar Palace.

Warily, Jonquil watched him go. Who else had Amanita forced to be here? 

Please let it not be his mother; he could not bear to watch Queen Vervain, no longer herself, giggle her way through the entire evening and speak only in nonsensical song as the woman who’d poisoned her mind celebrated taking everything else away from her--throne, title, people, home.

Jonquil’s gaze grew distant as he lost himself in thought. It could not be Nettle, his own former honor guard; she had been strong enough not to allow Amanita to wrench her full name from her lips and adept enough with magic to pose a challenge. Nettle was capable and canny. Amanita had made him send her away when it became clear she could not be controlled--her first commandment upon learning Jonquil’s true name. He had no choice but to obey. And Nettle had gone, but not before vowing revenge against Amanita. Jonquil knew not where she was now. He hoped she had not found herself in Amanita’s clutches after all, somehow.

“You didn’t think you were my only honored guest tonight, did you, Jonquil? I had thought you might not agree so easily to my proposal.” Amanita observed his unease and took a long swallow from her goblet, wine of honeyed morning dew glistening on her smiling lips as she set it down again. “So I invited a friend of yours. Perhaps he will be able to make you see reason.”

_He?_ Jonquil’s long fae ears flattened to his skull in consternation before he could control himself and force them into a more neutral position. Amanita didn’t need to know she’d surprised him.

He was not close with many men of the Wildwood. He misliked and mistrusted most of them. Of those who did not openly scorn him for refusing to engage in petty cruelties, he could see several already in the crowd beyond the throne’s knot-rooted dais. Who else was there?

Lord Larkspur, perhaps? He did not see him present. They had oft commiserated with one another while learning magic as boys; Larkspur was as bad at casting glamours as Jonquil. They had been friends of a sort, each understanding the other’s trials. But that had been long ago, and he had not spoken much with Larkspur in some time. It seemed unlikely Amanita would leverage him against Jonquil, but if nothing else, he was easily led.

Jonquil worried at the hem of his tunic anxiously, smoothing his fingers over the softly ruffled petal’s edge over and over. It could be Lord Yew. Although they were not exactly friends, he had once harbored feelings for Yew and everyone in the Wildwood knew it. With sparkling blue wings and iridescent blue-black skin, Yew was breathtakingly beautiful, and he flaunted it. He dazzled mortals and faeries alike, and enjoyed all the attention he drew. Yew had strung him along until Jonquil had tried to kiss him on the night of his seventy-fifth birth-eve. He could still hear the peal of incredulous laughter Yew had given as he’d pushed Jonquil away. It had stung. They were young and foolish then, but with distance and time he had come to see that Yew kept _everyone_ at arm’s length, not just him. He was flirtatious, yes, but he would only allow others to look and never touch. Jonquil did not understand, but he could respect that. Yew was not unkind to Jonquil thereafter, and even at times over the years had given him advice and tips to charm other suitors and had gone so far as to tell him how to steal himself a mortal worth keeping. (Advice he had never acted on.) Perhaps Amanita had invited Yew to talk sense into Jonquil, as someone she knew he might actually listen to? He would have been easy to spot were he already in attendance at the revelry.

And, of course, it could not possibly be--

The whir of wings in flight from the direction of the palace drew Jonquil out of his thoughts.

“Ah, here he is now,” Amanita said, with a pointed smile. 

Her delight only grew as Jonquil gaped at the figures approaching the throne. Viburnum and another man, nearly as tall and broad as the guard, with wide and ruffled wings as bright as sunlight through summer leaves… _No._ No, please, let it be some sort of cruel glamour.

“Prince Coriander of the Swallowtail Valley Court, how kind of you to have accepted our invitation.” Amanita’s voice was as deceptively sweet as mead as she watched his approach.

Stunned confusion and shock had frozen Jonquil’s blood and turned him to stone where he sat, a statue upon a granite plinth. He could do nothing, say nothing as his love walked right into the wicked snare. Why was he here? How many times had Jonquil warned him how dangerous his Unseelie kin were? How oft had he said how little regard they had for the Seelie fey of the Valley? And had Coriander been listening to him whenever he’d complained of some new torment the courtiers had wrought upon unfortunate interlopers into their realm, of cruelties done for fun alone? Amanita’s name had featured more than a few times in those tales, he was certain. So _why_? How had she lured him?

“The pleasure is mine,” Coriander said with genuine warmth as he reached the throne, taking Amanita’s proffered hand and kissing it as he knelt before her. He then looked to Jonquil and gave him a soft smile full of sadness. “I am sorry to hear of your mother’s illness, Prince--excuse me, King Jonquil. I am sure she would have wished to witness your nuptials, but happy indeed am I to have such an honor.”

Horror flooded Jonquil and he turned a wide-eyed glare on Amanita, eyes sharp and hard as shards of obsidian. “What lies have you told him?” he hissed.

Amanita laughed. “Lies? I merely embellished the truth and perhaps got ahead of myself a little. You cannot deny that your mother is very ill indeed--”

“That’s _your_ doing,” Jonquil snarled. Hot anger burned in his belly and made his magical energy rush prickling to the surface, lighting his skin bright violet. “And there will be no nuptials.”

Amanita waved a slender hand through the air as though brushing his words aside. “So you say, for now. Will you deny our guest the honor of witnessing a royal marriage?”

“I do not understand,” Coriander said, his glittering amber eyes full of honest confusion as he rose to his feet and looked from Amanita to Jonquil and back again. “Your letter--Jonquil, the invitation was written in your hand. It read that you wished to share your sorrow and joy with those who were your friends, invited me to come and see you crowned…”

Jonquil was stricken. His magic flickered, grew brighter, then dimmed, his skin itching as it faltered. “I knew nothing of this letter or invitation until this moment, I swear to you, Coriander. You have been deceived. Amanita is adept at glamour and forgery.”

She beamed as though it were a compliment.

Coriander took a step backwards, only to run into Viburnum’s bulk. With a start, his wings flicked and he began to take flight, but Viburnum quickly reached out to take hold of his upper arm to keep him grounded.

Shaking him off, Coriander turned an affronted frown on the burly guard. He stood between the throne and the leftmost seat of prominence where Jonquil sat, anger sparking in his eyes now. Warm spring green light suffused Coriander’s skin as he gathered his magic, strong and bright and steady as Jonquil’s rarely was. “Explain yourself, Amanita.”

Up in the gnarled oakwood throne, Amanita looked down on this spectacle as though watching an entertaining play-performance. She leaned on one elbow, curling her legs beneath her. With one long finger she pointed down at Coriander. “You, sweet Seelie Prince, are going to persuade your dear friend Jonquil here to agree to be my King. For if he does not, I will have some fun ruining the both of you.” She grinned maliciously. “Either way, I get what I want.”

“You cannot harm an invited guest,” Coriander said, his wings flicking in defiance.

“Oh, no, it would be a terrible crime to violate the rules of hospitality so. _I_ won’t harm you at all, Prince Coriander.” Amanita’s blood-red gaze slid toward Jonquil meaningfully. “And I’ll be happy to send any of my subjects who do to meet the wrath of your Court, as would only be fit.”

Jonquil’s heart dropped like a stone into the pit of his stomach. She would turn him against the one he loved, make him hurt Coriander. And for it he would then die at the hands of the royal fey of the Swallowtail Valley Court, for the punishment for injury against a Prince--he an invited guest no less--was death.

Or he could marry Amanita. Doom himself to a life of servitude, to carry out her vile whims for as long as he should live. To spare Coriander harm, he was dismayed to find he was considering it.

Coriander must have seen his resignation in the lowering of his ears or the droop of his wings or, perhaps, the further dimming of his dusky violet glow, for he whispered, rough and pained, “Jonquil, you need not do as she bids.” 

Then louder, angrier, and directed at Amanita, “If you hurt him, I will consider the truce between our Courts nullified.”

Like tinkling dagger-sharp crystals, Amanita’s laughter rang out over the sounds of the festive revelry music. “Oh no,” she cried in mock alarm, hand to her breast, “whatever shall my poor Unseelie fey do against this _terrifying_ threat! Pillage your lands and blight your crops, perhaps? Steal the fairest of your fey brethren as chattel? Harrow your forces until you are driven out of that valley entirely?”

Viburnum chuckled low at that, his plain pale pink wings fluttering in amusement, a glint of dangerous mischief in his eyes. Suddenly, Jonquil knew why Amanita had chosen him her guard. They shared the same delight in violence. But where Amanita favored more subtle arts--glamours, deception, games of the mind, slow-working curses that took years to manifest before causing utter destruction--Viburnum was just a brute.

Coriander tensed where he stood just out of arm’s reach of the honor guard, outrage on his face and in the flared set of his ears and fine, frilled wings.

His own face in his hands, long silvery hair spilling into his lap to veil him further, Jonquil spoke. His voice sounded foreign to his own ears. Hollow. Broken. “You’ve made your point, Amanita. Let Coriander go. Just use my name. Command me to wed you and have done.”

The gasp Coriander gave twisted Jonquil’s heart. Barely audibly, he heard him whisper, “Oh seven mercies, she knows your name?”

“My dear Jonquil, where is the fun in that?” Amanita purred. “Here is my proposal: amiably agree to wed, or I will have you act on the deepest desires of your heart and flesh. Choose me or him, and may we all take much pleasure in it.”

“Jonquil?” Coriander’s voice, soft, pained.

Jonquil lifted his face to look Coriander in the eye. That much he owed him. 

His own eyes full of dark and endless despair, he said, “I’m sorry, Coriander. I am weak, and she knows… she knows too much of me. I--” His breath caught in his throat, the words stuck there, hard and choking. He could not speak of love, not here, not now. “I will not lay a hand on you. You don’t deserve to be entangled in this morass. Go. Leave me and go!”

Amanita fixed her poison gaze on Jonquil and rose from the throne, pleased as a cat going in for the kill. She knew she had won.

“No!” Coriander shouted. “You expect me to just watch and let her decide your life’s course? She would treat you as a slave. I know you, Jonquil. Death would be kinder.”

Hot tears pricked at Jonquil’s eyes, and he blinked to keep them back. Coriander spoke truth. But what choice did he have? 

Fluttering down to sit beside Jonquil, Amanita smoothed his long, silvery hair behind one low-set ear and took his cheek in her hand. She turned his face toward her, and he fought to control a flinch. Her hand was cool and bone-dry and her touch made his skin crawl. “Do we have an agreement? Seal it with a kiss.”

“Quil, do what you must, but do not sacrifice yourself to _her_! Please. Please, I cannot bear it.” Chin held high, fire blazing in his eyes, Coriander looked on the verge of throwing sparks. Bright green faerie light suffused his skin enough to light up the whole royal dais. Catching that light, the rise and tumble of his short-cropped tightly spiraled golden curls looked like a glowing halo of summer sunlight. Such fire and warmth did not belong here in the gloomy depths of the Wildwood.

It would mean Coriander’s death if he did violence against the Queen, and Jonquil wished he would just leave him to his fate before making things worse. But then, self-preservation had never been one of Coriander’s strengths.

“How noble,” Amanita said, her breath warm and sickly sweet so near to Jonquil’s face. “Hear how he pleads for his dear _Quil_! Will you give him satisfaction? Kiss _him_ and seal your own death writ instead?”

Revulsion made Jonquil shudder, wings shivering too as Amanita petted them. He could not bear having her so intimately close, nor hear Coriander’s name of affection for him falling from her lips. 

“Do you know what you ask, Coriander? She would have me--” Perhaps if he put it as crudely as he could, Coriander would know what depravity he invited. Jonquil’s voice broke over the vulgar words. “...She would have me _fuck_ you, violate you, here in front of all the Court.”

A soothing breeze brushed Jonquil’s skin, carrying the scent of green growing things, sweet and rich, as Coriander whispered, “I understand. So be it.” 

Those words, so gently spoken, landed like a stab to Jonquil’s heart. The comfort Coriander offered, for it had to have been him blowing that sweetness to calm Jonquil’s anguished soul, was undeserved.

So be it? How selfish it would be to give in and take what was offered, knowing it would cause pain to the one he loved. This act would forever taint Coriander’s memory of Jonquil… no longer friend, never lover, but violator. He would steal the light from the brightest part of his life, poison the sweetest and truest faerie he’d ever known. All to avoid torment himself.

Jonquil hated his own weakness. Hated himself as he pushed Amanita away and dropped from the stone seat to the uneven ground below.

Giggling as she righted herself, Amanita brushed her skirts off and then fluttered back up into the oaken throne, unfazed.

“You sicken me, Amanita. I would die before marrying you.” Jonquil swallowed hard, forcing his voice to steady as he looked up into her sharp gaze full of vicious delight. “So go on, make me your plaything. This will be the last time.”

“Such dramatics! This is better than theatre. I can’t wait to see what happens next.” Amanita settled herself, spread her legs, and without discretion rucked her gauzy silken skirts up her thighs to touch herself as she watched. “Viburnum, would you place a wager on whether I can make him fuck the Seelie Prince without even using his name?”

Viburnum laughed where he stood behind Coriander, a low rumble. The hungry way in which his eyes raked over Amanita disgusted Jonquil. “It would be a losing wager to go against you, my Queen.”

“Wise words,” she said.

Coriander glared at her and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Get on with it.”

The smile on Amanita’s face was lascivious. She licked her lips. “Eager, aren’t you?”

All it took was a lazy wave of her hand and Jonquil felt his defenses crumble. Mental barriers were never his strong suit, but it was frightening how quickly and easily Amanita brushed them aside. The words she spoke next were lost to him--a spell, a charm, one that sank into the core of him and teased out his innermost secret memories before delving into his darkest desires. Jonquil thought of Coriander gazing at the stars, pointing out his favorite constellation and explaining that it always led him where he wanted to be--here with Jonquil. Then images of Coriander laughing with him flashed in his mind’s eye, showing him how to make a carpet of chamomile grow in an instant, the both of them then lying upon it. ...Coriander kissing him breathless, not a memory now. A wish. And oh, then, Coriander above him and within him, their bodies entwined and writhing, making him _whole_. Jonquil’s heart sped and his blood boiled, heat coursing through him as he felt that need intensify to an unbearable peak. Coriander. Coriander. Coriander.

“ _Oh_ ,” Jonquil moaned, black eyes gone glassy with lust.

“Too easy,” came a mocking, feminine voice.

He ignored it.

The world had narrowed. There was his love, so near, standing among the thick and ancient roots. All he could see was Coriander, strong and tall, bright wings like newly sprouted leaves unfurled at his back, deeper summer-warm green skin freckled with soft amber and gold specks glowing softly with inner light. There were other bodies nearby, other sounds, laughter and singing, but none of that mattered. Coriander was here, and Jonquil needed him, needed to drink deeply of his light and his warmth.

Jonquil shivered. He was so cold, and yet so hot. He knew if he could wrap himself in Coriander’s arms, sink himself onto Coriander’s cock, the ice in his core would melt and the fire in his loins would be quenched. His smooth beech-bark trousers suddenly felt too tight and stiff, chafing against his legs, pressing achingly over his burgeoning arousal. Quickly, clumsily, he stripped them off, rending them in the process. 

It didn’t matter. He didn’t need them. 

The fine, thin rhododendron petals of his tunic tore in his fingers as he pulled that off too, baring his skin to the sultry summer air. It seemed to caress him and he shivered again, every nerve alight with sensation.

Better.

Now, to get to Coriander. As he tried to fly, Jonquil found he was too agitated, his wings twitching and buzzing in an uncoordinated way. So he stumbled over the roots of the great oak instead, making his way gracelessly to where Coriander stood.

There was laughter, uproariously loud and derisive, all around him. He knew those voices, and shame prickled deep in his breast, rising to heat his cheeks and ears. It gave him pause, but was not enough to make him want to stop. His desire was too great.

Jonquil nearly keened as Coriander met him and pulled him close, his face pressed to the neat weave of Coriander’s sweetgrass shirt, his head cradled in one of Coriander’s warm hands, the other burning over his thin, bare back holding his wings down. “Don’t listen to them, love,” Coriander whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “It is Amanita’s enchantment that makes you act so; let them jeer.”

_Love._ Jonquil clung to that word as he clung to Coriander’s body, his fingers digging into the back of his shirt, hooking through the thin strands of grass to rip them away. It sent sparks of pleasure through him as it echoed in his mind-- _love, love, love_ \--and tingled heatedly through every inch of skin that touched Coriander’s. They were surrounded by blindingly brilliant violet light, Jonquil’s magic out of his control entirely. He’d never dared to dream hearing that word from Coriander’s lips.

“I want you, oh seven mercies and seven more, so badly it hurts. Coriander. Coriander, can you feel it?” The words spilled out of Jonquil in a single breath as his hands explored Coriander’s skin, felt the softness and smelled the verdant green spice of it. He pressed his throbbing cock against the front of Coriander’s silky orange poppy petal skirt.

Coriander tensed, his muscles like hardwood beneath Jonquil’s hands as Jonquil raked the points of his nails down his back and then dipped them below his skirtwaist to slide the last annoying barrier between them off and away.

“Jonquil,” Coriander whispered shakily. Was that nervousness?

Well, he could ease Coriander out of that. He smoothed his palms lower, caressing the small of his back and then down further, so gently. Oh, how Jonquil had longed to touch the firm globes of Coriander’s ass. They were as lush and plump in his hands as he had always imagined. He squeezed them as he kissed and nipped at Coriander’s collarbone, up his shoulder and neck as high as he could reach. Much shorter than Coriander, Jonquil could not get a taste of his lips without taking wing. His wings buzzed a frenetic hum but he couldn’t muster enough focus to lift himself.

He whined, high and thin. Hands moving to grasp Coriander’s strong arms, he tugged at him. “Sit with me. Let me cover you. I need you!”

Whistles and more laughter pierced Jonquil’s consciousness.

Coriander’s magical energy surged, fear and shame and anger radiating so strongly in his warm green glow that Jonquil could feel it. It jolted him, cleared some of the haze from his mind…

As he got to his knees and sat upon a patch of moss betwixt the roots all around them, Coriander was trembling. He would not meet Jonquil’s eye, pain stiffening his kind features. Confusion rattled Jonquil. This was not love. Coriander did not want this. This was _not_ what Jonquil most deeply desired.

As the enchantment shattered, Jonquil gasped in horror. He sprang back, away from Coriander, falling hard and scraping his knees against the gnarled oak roots. He was naked, they both were, clothing torn and scattered about the ground. All around them a crowd had gathered; gentry, fey he knew, gawked and tittered and leered, some so aroused by the spectacle that they had engaged one another in similar fashion.

Coriander drew his knees to his chest and fanned his tremulous wings out to shield himself from the mocking view of the Wildwood Court.

Jonquil felt sick.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice like snapping twigs. The words were not nearly enough, but it was all he could say.

“Oh, come, you can’t stop _now_. Things were just beginning to get interesting,” Amanita’s voice carried from the throne, a flippant drawl. The gathered courtiers shouted salacious encouragements.

Jonquil’s heart beat like a frightened bird against his ribs at the sound. His head snapped up to look at her. She was spread languidly in her seat, still slowly touching herself as she watched him through heavy-lidded eyes.

She nodded her head. “Continue.”

“It’s okay. Quil…” Coriander held his hand out to Jonquil where he sat, still shaking, the wan smile on his face strained and not at all finding his pained eyes.

It was not okay. Nothing was okay. He curled into himself and shook his head. “I can’t.”

Amanita sighed and rolled her eyes. “So willful. I tire of it.” 

Then, in a smug voice that was pitched to carry directly into his mind, he heard her say his full name along with her commandment: “You will fuck Prince Coriander of the Swallowtail Valley fey here and now until the both of you spend heartily. Then you will submit yourself to him and the mercy of his Court, such as it may be.”

The compulsion to do as she commanded by name struck immediately, pulling at the marrow of his bones and making them ache. Jonquil rose and stumbled back to where Coriander sat, and seated himself in his lap without hesitation. He held Coriander’s shoulders and drew him in, kissing his full lips with tender passion, tongue swiping into his mouth to taste the sweetness of him. 

Coriander let it happen, opening his mouth. His hands were still and warm on Jonquil’s hips, holding him steady, wings still stretched wide to give them a brightly green shelter.

Softly, reverently, Jonquil reached out to touch the frills of those wings, making Coriander shiver. So soft and delicate they were. He ran his fingers through the tight golden curls on his head next; it felt like sinking them deep into wisps of spun cloud.

_Fuck him_ , Amanita had ordered. She had not specified that it could not be sweetly, gently.

Jonquil could not help the soft moan that rose out of him, and hated himself for liking the way it all felt despite the wrongness of the situation. If circumstances had been different, if he could have had Coriander any other way… oh, it made Jonquil’s heart hurt, a deep and swelling pain deep within his breast.

The crowd cheered and whistled as Jonquil took both himself and Coriander in hand, stroking their half-hardened cocks in tandem, the smooth glide of velvet-soft skin awakening their arousal and making each of them swell even through the fear and shame they both felt.

Now that he was no longer under enchantment, Jonquil could not ignore the sounds of the revelers around them, their yelled epithets and lewd suggestions, their groans and panting, the wet slap of skin against skin. He could feel their eyes on him and Coriander, and he could not stop.

“I’m sorry,” Jonquil whispered brokenly into Coriander’s quivering ear, mouthing it so tenderly. “I’m so sorry.”

Coriander shook his head, laying a kiss to the tip of Jonquil’s own ear. His fingers stroked the ends of silvery hair down at the small of his back, and Jonquil shuddered at the thrill of sensation. “It is none of it your fault.”

The energy he exuded still stung of humiliation and fury, but it was something of a balm to Jonquil’s soul to know it was not all directed at him. For all he did not deserve such kindness…

To help Coriander grow sufficiently aroused, Jonquil squeezed both their shafts together and pulled his hand up their lengths, then down, pumping firmly until he felt dizzy with need. Coriander grit his teeth in a grimace, breath coming fast and loud through his nostrils.

There. Good. Rising on his knees, Jonquil lifted himself enough to reach back and guide Coriander’s thick cock inside him. A wave of his fingers and a concentrated burst of magic slicked them both with oil, making it easy going. Coriander’s eyes seemed luminously bright as he watched Jonquil sink slowly down onto him. A glistening trail of molten gold slid down his cheek.

It must have caught the light enough for others to see, for Amanita’s voice rang out to jeeringly chide, “Oh, poor fragile Seelie princeling, see how he cries!”

Jonquil leaned forward and kissed the tear away tenderly as he began to rock his hips. “Mind her not,” he murmured as he began to rock his hips. “Her heart is of jagged stone.”

A small, wavering smile lifted just the corners of Coriander’s lips. He closed his eyes and Jonquil felt his hands smoothing over his slim hips and further still until his fingers were clutching each cheek of Jonquil’s ass and began to knead. He thrust to meet Jonquil’s movements as best he could in such a position seated beneath him, and kissed Jonquil.

It was more engagement and encouragement than he had given thus far, and it made something hard and tight and scared inside Jonquil’s heart relax and uncoil. 

Another moan rumbled deep from Jonquil’s chest as the angle of Coriander’s thrusts became just right, hitting his bundled nerves within him again and again. Coriander swallowed it, their breaths coming in heavy, hot pants as they kissed open-mouthed. Jonquil dug his nails into the firm flesh of Coriander’s shoulders as he felt his peak rapidly approaching, his whole body alight with prickling bright violet energy.

The revelers’ ecstatic orgy was reaching a fever pitch, too, the entire royal clearing lit up with the multicolored magic of fey bodies twisting and writhing together. There were screams of pain amidst those of pleasure, violence and mischief an elemental part of an Unseelie carousal.

Then Coriander’s hands slid up Jonquil’s narrow back until his fingers found the tender spot where wings met flesh, and softly, sweetly, scratched. The sensitive nerves sent sparks of white-hot searing pleasure through Jonquil’s whole body, sending him spilling over Coriander’s belly in great throbbing spurts. Someone was howling raggedly, and it was long moments before Jonquil realized that was his own voice.

Someone was also laughing uproariously, shrill and piercing and ugly. Amanita.

Revulsion and humiliation welled up with the aftershocks of bliss still coarsing through him. Jonquil buried his face in Coriander’s hair and tried to block out everything but the smell and feel and sound of him, his love, who was shaking apart beneath him.

This could not end until Coriander had come, too.

Grasping at what little magical energy he had left now that his head was clearer, Jonquil set it all toward a charm Coriander had taught him, one to soothe and calm. He let his power envelop Coriander, warm and soft as a bed of dandelion fluff, filling Coriander’s ears with the sound of birdsong, his nose with the scent of sweet spring blossoms… jonquils. It strained Jonquil to do it, but if it wrung him out and left him powerless, what did it matter? He was Coriander’s as soon as this was over, now until the moment of his inevitable death.

Jonquil stroked Coriander’s hair and rode him for all he was worth and then some. It was so gratifying to feel it as Coriander began to tense and clutch at Jonquil’s back, holding him so tightly his bones creaked. Moments later Coriander’s breath left him in a rush and his cock pulsed forcefully within Jonquil as he spilled his seed.

Then, only then, did Jonquil let his own tears fall.

“I should have told you long ago how I felt,” Jonquil whispered with a voice like dried leaves blowing in a lonely wind. He held and soothed Coriander as he shook, coming down from his peak. “You have held my heart for many years, Coriander. Now have my name to do with as you will. I am Jet Jonquil Jorathvaret, and I am yours.”

“You trust too easily, Quil,” Coriander replied, his own voice husky and strangely bittersweet. But he was smiling. The fingers of his left hand brushed moonlit strands of Jonquil’s hair away from his eyes. He swiped the soft pads of them over his cheeks next, drying his tears.

Jonquil shook his head. “I trust no one save you.”

The moment was broken as the last of Jonquil’s strength left him, his glow dimming to near nothing. His enchantment broken, reality came rushing back in. The crowd was dispersing now that the entertainment had concluded, although some hung back to gawk and shout obscene insults at him and Coriander.

Unceremoniously, Viburnum seized Jonquil’s right upper arm and heaved him upright on legs that could barely hold him. “He’s well-ruined, my Queen.”

“And our esteemed guest is as well, I see. Good,” said Amanita. Through bleary eyes, Jonquil saw she was lounging now with her head pillowed on her arms, legs slung over the side of the throne, looking contented. “Throw Jonquil and the Seelie brat out. Dump them in the borderlands. If either is ever seen in the Wildwood again, they are to be killed.”

“I shall leave of my own accord,” Coriander said, rising unsteadily. He flexed his wings to test their strength and limped forward to stand beside Jonquil. “Give him to me. I’ll take him.”

The words were spoken bitterly, as though doing so would be a terrible burden to Coriander.

“Ah, so the princeling still has some pride left? Go on, then. Be sure you make it out of my realm before you collapse.” Amanita grinned wickedly.

She waved her hand. They were dismissed.

The thrum of Coriander’s wings was low and labored as he flew as quickly as he could with Jonquil cradled in his arms, a flash of green light winking in and out of the tangled trees of the Wildwood.

The last things Jonquil was aware of before he lost consciousness were threefold: a promise, a confession, and a secret. “I won’t let any harm come to you in the Valley, Jet Jonquil Jorathvoret, for I confess I love you too. Someday we’ll see Amanita answer for what happened tonight. You have the word of Solvei Coriander Sphene.”

Jonquil tasted Coriander’s full name on his lips as his eyes slipped shut.

It tasted sweet like a sunburst of hope.


End file.
